When He's Gone
by Alexandri
Summary: After the final battle, Neville leaves England and everything he knew behind. Now he's back in England and there are old bridges to repair, whether he wants to or not. DISCONTINUED.
1. The Beginning of the End

A/N: So, I posted my first completed Neville/Ginny fic a couple weeks ago and got a pretty good response to it. So I decided to post my other N/G WIP since I can't, for the life of me, figure out how I'd want to expand the one-shot I posted. Anyway, let me know what you think about this and, as I'm stuck in the middle of parts four and five, feel free to throw out suggestions. RR. Alexandri

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**Seventh Year, The Final Battle**

Pain unlike anything he'd ever known streaked through Neville Longbottom's body. He arched with it, his wrists and ankles straining against the ropes that bound him to a tree in the midst of the Forbidden Forest. The only thing that penetrated the ceaseless torment was the hideous glee of Bellatrix Lestrange's cackle mixed with the inhuman sound of his own screams. Suddenly, the intensity of the agony diminished and Neville realized somewhere in the back of his pain-ravished mind that she'd stopped the curse for now. Breathless, he concentrated on not biting or swallowing his tongue even as his body continued to shake and twitch.

"What fun," Bellatrix drawled, her voice calm and unaffected as if she were on an evening stroll through Hogwarts' gardens. "You've proven much more satisfying than I'd thought. Your parents would be proud."

Neville glared at her since he couldn't yet speak. He was no stranger to suffering. It was a common factor of his daily life. Between the disappointment he was to his grandmother and the social awkwardness that had always plagued him, Neville knew what it was to hurt. Yet even the pain to which Bellatrix was now subjecting him didn't compared to humiliation he felt. She'd been at him for the last ten minutes, aiming the Cruciatus curse at him again and again until he'd lost control of his bowels and tears streamed uncontrollably down his face. Each time the curse seemed to hurt more. Every muscle, every ounce of flesh felt like it was boiling, bubbling off his bones like so much molten wax. He knew it wasn't long now. Neither his body nor his mind could take much more. But if this woman, this evil, miserable bint of a woman who'd taken his parents from him, thought that he was going to beg then she was in for one hell of a surprise.

"Well?" Bellatrix taunted, coming closer to him. "Haven't you anything to say to me?"

Summoning all of his reserve, Neville stared her in the eye and said as succinctly as possible, "Sod off."

She merely laughed. "Foolish child. You should never antagonize your captor," she said as if giving him motherly advice. "It just makes them enjoy hurting you more." With that, she used the curse on him yet again.

Eyes rolling back, the top of his head pressing into the bark of the tree, Neville stopped fighting. He was either on the verge of death or insanity; he found that fighting made it worse. He didn't have enough strength left to hold off the inevitable anymore.

The pain ceased almost as soon as it had begun. His body sagging against the tree, he could just barely make out Hermione fighting off Bellatrix. _It won't be long now_, he thought. _Maybe now this nightmare will end._

The ropes around his ankles fell away followed quickly by the ones binding his wrists. Neville fell forward into Ginny's arms. The sudden contact made him cry out—his body felt so raw. He wasn't surprised to see Ginny's hand covered in his blood when she pulled it back.

"We're here, Nev," she whispered urgently, handing him his wand as they edged passed the combatants. "We're going to get you out of here."

He didn't answer, preferring to concentrate on taking one step at a time without putting too much of his weight on her shoulders. They'd almost made it out of the clearing when he heard Bellatrix screech, "Impedimenta."

They turned in time to see Hermione fly backwards into a tree and crumple to the ground. Bellatrix rounded on them and directed the same spell at Ginny. She dodged it and yelled "Petrificus Totallus" as she aimed at Bellatrix's torso. Arms and legs snapping close to her body, she collapsed on the ground.

"Come on, Nev," Ginny urged as she guided them toward Hermione's collapsed form.

"No." He tried to pull out of her grasp.

She held on and stared at him. "Neville, come on. We have to get out of here."

He just shook his head. "See 'bout Mione," he muttered.

"But . . ."

"Go."

"But, Neville," Ginny pleaded, near tears.

Summoning what little remained of his strength, he pushed her toward their fallen friend, dropping to his knees in the process. "Go!"

Ginny hesitated, clearly not wanting to leave him. Staring wearily into her eyes, Neville whispered, "Please, go."

Reluctantly, she did as he asked.

Neville made no attempt to escape. He simply gave himself time to get his breath back while keeping one eye on Bellatrix and the other on Hermione and Ginny. He suspected Ginny's spell wouldn't last long enough for them all to escape.

Ginny had just managed to revive Hermione when Bellatrix staggered to her feet. As she aimed her wand at the pair, Neville shouted "NO!" Ginny ducked in time, but neither girl was in a position to fight back.

"Leave them alone," he demanded before sending a Disarming Charm her way. It missed.

Bellatrix's evil, furious glare swung to him. "You." She pointed her wand at him.

Neville was ready for her this time. With his wand aimed at her heart, he yelled "Stupefy" seconds before she yelled "Accio wand." She froze in place. His adrenaline already fading, Neville watched in fascination as his wand zoomed out of his hand straight through her black heart, shattering his spell.

A shocked, pained howl tore from Bellatrix's throat. Neville vaguely heard the girls' gasps as both he and Bellatrix fell unconscious to the ground.

* * *

Neville floated in and out of consciousness for the next four days. One moment he'd be out in the Herbology greenhouses with Professor Sprout and the next he'd be talking to his grandmother. Nothing seemed real. He wondered if he was dead or merely insane.

On the fifth day, a soft buzz of voices woke him. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked around. He was in the hospital wing. Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Luna sat around his bed, quietly talking amongst themselves. All of them but Ginny, who was wrapped in Ron's arms, and Luna, who was watching Neville.

"Hello," she said, her voice soft and ethereal as usual.

Four pairs of eyes snapped to his face. Neville squirmed a little, unused to so much concentrated attention. "Hello," he croaked. His throat was dry and scratchy.

Before he could ask, Hermione handed him a cup of water. "I'm so glad you're all right," she told him as he drank. "Madame Pomfrey said you would be but . . ." Her eyes clouded over as Harry hugged her from behind.

"You gave us all a scare," Ron said.

"Sorry," he mumbled. Then he cleared his throat. "So we won?"

"Yeah," Harry answered with a low chuckle. "Voldemort's gone."

Neville nodded slightly. They'd won though they were all a little worse for wear. One of Harry's arms was in a sling and his head was bandaged. Neville noticed his scar had disappeared. Both Hermione and Luna were covered with scratches in various stages of healing. Ron had an enormous bruise on the side of his face that had turned a sickly yellowish-green. Only Ginny appeared to be undamaged. Her eyes, however, blazed with fury as she watched him.

"Tell me," he asked as he turned his gaze from the youngest Weasley. Neville settled back against his pillows, letting them fill him in on what had happened. There'd been many casualties on both sides: Lupin, Moody, Bellatrix, Lucius Malfoy, Professor McGonagall, and Peter Pettigrew among them. All of them considered it a miracle that they'd survived intact, especially Harry. Fatigue was tugging at him by the time they began telling him about Malfoy's death. Ron was almost done when Ginny whispered, "What were you thinking?"

Everyone hushed. It was the first time she'd spoken since Neville woke up. The quiet, trembling ferocity of her voice stunned them all.

"Why, Nev?" she demanded. "Why did you make me leave?"

Sinking further into his pillows, he closed his eyes. He didn't want to talk about it.

"Don't you dare go to sleep on me, Neville Longbottom," she practically roared.

"Gin," Ron admonished, clearly as shocked by her outburst as the others were.

She stood next to the bed, shaking from head to toe. Her gaze bore into Neville's weary face. "Do you have any idea how you sounded as she tortured you? Do you know how terrified I was that we'd be too late? That you'd be dead by the time we got to you? Then you just push me aside. Why?"

"It doesn't matter now, Ginny," he answered as sleep began to pull him under.

"It does to me."

He sighed. "You have a family, Ginny," Neville said quietly. "You have a lot of friends. Same with Hermione. They'd miss you."

"That doesn't explain anything."

Neville closed his eyes again as sleep overtook him. Just before he went under, he murmured, "They'd miss you. There's no one to miss me when I'm gone."


	2. Reunion

**Six Years Later**

Though his back was to her, there was something about the man in front of Gringotts that was very familiar to Ginny Weasley. She squinted at his tall, lean frame and dark, curly hair hoping that somehow her memory would be jogged. She squinted to no avail. Her squint then turned to a frown. It was going to nag at her until she figured it out. If only he'd stop talking to the officious-looking old wizard beside him and turn around. Then, perhaps, she could settle the matter in her mind and get on with her life.

"Ginevra!"

Jumping in her seat, she turned her gaze to her companion. Reginald Denham, an apprentice to her father in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department and her date for lunch, stared back. "Are you all right, Ginevra?"

"Yes," she replied, forcing herself not to turn her gaze back to the tall man before Gringotts. "Why do you ask?"

Reginald, never Reggie, shrugged. "You were frowning and seemed distracted."

Ginny's eyes flitted back to the mystery man. He was nodding at something the old wizard had said. "I'm sorry," she said, dragging her eyes back to Reginald. "You were telling me a story about potty-ports?"

"Port-o-potties," he corrected, smiling indulgently before resuming his story.

He did that often she noticed. Smiled, nodded, laughed with an air of superior indulgence for her less cultivated knowledge of all things Muggle. With a mental shrug, she went back to watching the mystery man under the guise of eating her salad. He and the older wizard continued their conversation for several more minutes before the older wizard gave the younger man something. Ginny couldn't make out what it was; she was too far away. Then, shaking hands, the older wizard left and the younger man went into the bank.

"I'm sure he learned a lesson he'll never forget," Reginald exclaimed.

Ginny looked up to see her date had finished his story and giggled as expected. She wondered why she even bothered pretending she was interested. Reginald was nice enough, but he was far too stuffy for her taste. He reminded her of Percy. She suppressed a shudder; she couldn't imagine ever wanting to date someone like Percy.

Resigning herself to another Muggle-artifact-gone-awry story, Ginny smiled at Reginald. "Anything else happen so far today?"

"Actually, no." Reginald wiped his mouth and dropped the napkin on his empty plate. "Listen, Ginevra, I have to go back to the office."

"Oh." What a pleasant surprise. She felt awful about being so happy he was leaving. "Why?"

"I have a mountain of paperwork to do," he explained as he stood. "Did you want anything else?"

"No, I'm done with my salad."

"Right." Reginald left to settle the bill. She was trying to decide whether she should go back to work and forget about her mystery man or go into Gringotts and try to spot him when Reginald returned. Standing, Ginny offered him her cheek to kiss. He'd been going for her lips. "Are we still on for Friday night?"

"Yes," she answered though her stomach dropped. The Weasleys were having their monthly family dinner this weekend. Now she remembered why she bothered to pretend she was interested in something more with Reginald. Family dinners were easier to endure when her mother wasn't badgering her to get married and start a family of her own. "I'll see you then."

He nodded briskly and was off, weaving his way through the crowd.

Ginny drifted from the restaurant's patio into Diagon Alley, careful to stay on the edge of traffic. She had time; her lunch break wasn't over for another half hour. But did it really matter who he was? He could be someone she'd disliked. He could be a complete stranger. He could be dangerous. She should go back to work. There wasn't a shortage of it, that much was certain. This whole mini-obsession was ridiculous; she was going back to work. Just as she'd decided to end this folly, she realized she'd walked to the bottom of the steps leading to the bank. Figuring that something inside of her wanted to know who the man was, Ginny started up the steps.

She had almost reached the gleaming bronze doors when her mystery man came out, engrossed in the folder he carried. Suddenly, everything else fell away. He may have gotten taller, his hair longer, and his face more mature, but she knew this man. Even though she hadn't seen him in six years. "Neville?"

He looked up, startled by the sound of his name.

"Neville Longbottom?"

His shoulders drooped and hurt nearly overwhelmed her. He didn't want to see her? Maybe he didn't recognize her though she didn't see how he couldn't. "Ginny," he said softly. That shot that theory.

She blinked back the tears flooding her eyes and balled her hands into fists. Her nails dug into her palms, but she welcomed the pain. It was the only thing keeping her from losing it. Neville Longbottom stood before her, alive and well. Nothing indicated that he'd recently escaped some hellish dungeon or had been living some equally wretched existence. In fact, Neville looked better than he ever had.

Ignoring the people shoving by on either side of them, Ginny fought to think past the tightening of her chest and the pressure building in her head. Neville Longbottom stood before her without the decency to look like he'd been through hell. "You're all right," she whispered.

"Yeah, I . . ."

"No one kidnapped you or anything like that," she continued. Her head felt like it was going to pop off.

"No." He reached out and touched her arm.

Until he touched her, a part of Ginny hadn't really believed that she was having this conversation. Now, the tension inside of her snapped. "Then where the bloody hell have you been for the last six years!" she shouted, not caring who stared.

"I can explain, Ginny," Neville said, taking her arm and guiding her down the stairs.

"You'd damn well better," she exclaimed. "Where are you taking me?"

"The Leaky Cauldron."

"Why?"

He smiled down at her. Her heart fluttered maddeningly in response—an unusual reaction that flustered her even more than his reappearance. "Because we can have a calming cup of tea and a private conversation there."

"Are you trying to say I need to calm down?" she demanded.

"Yes."

Ginny gaped at him the rest of the way to the shabby pub. Neville got them a table in a quiet corner and ordered tea. Neither spoke. He fidgeted with his teacup and wouldn't look at her. She took the opportunity to really look at him. He'd grown into a fine young man. In school, his features hadn't fit as smoothly as some of the other boys. His eyes, nose, and ears had all seemed too big for his face while his mouth and chin had been too small. Now, everything had settled into a pleasant balance. He'd grown into his face.

She took in the long, oddly elegant column of his neck, which led to broad, trim shoulders. With his robes on, she couldn't see what else had changed but with his new height—he was easily 6'1"—Ginny suspected that he'd slimmed down significantly from the plump boy he'd been. He raised his teacup to his mouth double-handed and her eyes were drawn to his long, slender fingers. She shivered, her breathing shallower than seconds before, and she wondered why such a simple sight would lead to such a weird effect. "I only have fifteen minutes left until I have to go back to work," she informed him, her tone far more brusque than she'd intended.

Neville carefully set his cup on the table before raising his gaze to hers. Ginny had never noticed what a warm, inviting shade of brown they were. "I thought I could explain," he said softly. "Now, I can't think of how to tell you."

"I need to know something, Nev," she said. "None of us knew what to think after you disappeared from the infirmary. We didn't know if you were . . ." Her voice tapered off as she recalled her fear and worry for the months that followed his disappearance. "You're going to have to give me more than that."

"I can't explain it all in fifteen minutes, Gin." She opened her mouth to insist that he tell her something when he took her hands in his. The air sighed out of her and Ginny couldn't tear her eyes from the sight of her small hands in his larger, shapely ones. "Would . . . would you have dinner with me tonight, Ginny? I promise I'll explain then."

She nodded, surprised by how much she wanted to say yes. What was going on with her?

"Good," he said. "Let's meet at . . ."

"The Ministry," she interrupted before explaining, "I work there."

"Wouldn't you rather go home first?"

"No. Actually, why don't I just make us dinner?"

"Are you sure?" he asked, clearly surprised by the offer.

He wasn't the only one. "Yes, I'm sure. Meet me in the atrium at five-fifteen?"

"All right."

"Now that that's settled, I should get back to work." She really didn't want to go, but she needed some time to think about what had just happened.

Neville stood when Ginny did and walked with her to the door. She stopped with her hand on the knob and looked up at him. "I'll be there, Gin," he assured her before she could say anything. "I promise."


	3. Dinner and an Explanation

Disclaimer: Don't know if I did one of these, so here goes. I only own the plot. J.K. Rowling owns everything else.

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Neville smoothed nonexistent wrinkles out of his robes for the third time since arriving at the Ministry of Magic five minutes before. He was nervous, more nervous than he'd been since he left Hogwarts. When he'd received the owl requesting he come back to England post-haste, he'd hoped he could come and go without seeing anyone from school especially Ginny. Of all the people he'd known then, she meant the most to him. The thought of explaining the reasons behind his sudden disappearance seemed too daunting; he wasn't even sure he could make her or any of the others understand. Besides, he enjoyed the life he'd made for himself. Confronting his past would just complicate things.

Yet here he was. And here she came. Neville watched, an odd mixture of anxiety and eagerness fluttering in the pit of his stomach, as Ginny wended her way through the rush hour crowd toward him. She'd gotten prettier in the last six years. The vibrant, trademark red mane caressed her face and shoulders. Her bright, brown eyes sparkled brilliantly as they landed on him. Neville felt like he was sixteen again with an unrequited crush on his best friend. Pasting a smile on his lips even as he sighed, Neville waited for her to reach him and accepted her hug.

"I was afraid you'd change your mind," she told him as she pulled out of his embrace.

He'd considered it but he knew that Ginny would have found him eventually and then things would have been much worse. "You ready?"

"Let's go," she said, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the wall of fireplaces. She gave him her address as they waited for the line to move and made him repeat it. Then it was their turn. She went first. A minute later, he emerged in her living room. It was exactly the way he'd thought it would be: warm and inviting, filled with a cushy sofa and chairs, small mementos and dozens of pictures.

"May I take your robe," she asked, drawing his attention back to her. She was smiling at him, making the jitters in his stomach act up again. Undoing the clasp, he shrugged out of his midnight blue robe and handed it to her. He turned away and pretended to peruse the pictures.

_Get a hold of yourself, Neville_, he admonished himself. _She didn't want you then and she doesn't now. You're happy with your life the way it is. No need to mess with it._

"I took it out of my memory book and framed it after you disappeared," Ginny said beside him, startling him out of his private conversation.

"I'm sorry, what?"

She pointed to the picture he'd been blindly staring at for the last few minutes. It was of the two of them at the Yule Ball. Picture Ginny was laughing at something while Picture Neville smiled shyly and looked at her with admiring eyes. "I had a good time that night," she murmured, her hand coming to rest on the back of his arm.

Neville closed his eyes against the brief shock of awareness that whipped through him at her touch before meeting her gaze. Uncertainty flickered across her face as she tilted her head, clearly trying to understand the suddenly charged atmosphere between them. He didn't understand it either. With a slight smile, he whispered, "I had a good time, too."

Surprisingly, a delicate blush stained Ginny's cheeks and she looked away. Her hand slipped off of his arm and he stuffed his in his pockets. "So," she began after clearing her throat, "What do you want to eat?"

"Whatever you have in mind is fine with me."

"I'd _had_ a pizza from Renati's in mind . . ."

"Sounds good," he assured her.

The next hour passed easily enough. Ginny had filled him in on everything for the past six years while they waited for the pizza to arrive all the way through their second helpings. Neville stretched out, his ankles crossed, his head resting on the back of the couch, and a bottle of butterbeer sitting on his stomach. "Harry's dating . . . Luna?" he asked, surprised.

Ginny laughed and nodded. "Apparently, he appreciates her breezier approach to life."

"That's definitely Luna," Neville said, letting his eyes drift shut. "I'm happy for them."

Silence settled between them. He knew she was waiting for him to begin his story. He searched his brain for the right words, frowning when none came to mind.

"Neville," she called softly as if afraid he'd fallen asleep. "You promised."

Sighing, he let his head fall to the side. Looking into her sad, troubled eyes, he decided to just let the words come, whatever they may be. "I couldn't stay, Gin."

"Why not?"

"It was just too much."

"What was too much?" she asked.

"Everything." He sat up and rested his arms on his thighs, his butterbeer dangling from his fingers. "The battle and Bellatrix and just life—it was all so confusing."

"So you left without even saying goodbye?"

"You don't understand."

"I'm trying to get you to explain it to me," she huffed, her temper flaring.

Neville took a slow breath and let himself remember that night in the infirmary, willing the thoughts to crystallize in his mind. Finally, he said, "I didn't understand why me."

"Why you what?" she asked softly.

"Why I survived."

"I still don't understand."

Focusing on the bottle in his hand, he said, "My parents were well-liked, talented Aurors. They were good, worthy people. Everyone's always told me that. I'm practically a squib. So why did I survive Bellatrix's torture and they didn't? Why are they . . . insane and I'm not? Why did they have to lose a happy future and I get stuck with all these lonely, endless years ahead of me?"

He bowed his head. He knew without looking that she was crying. The last thing he wanted to witness was her pity for him. But she'd asked for the truth and he felt obliged to give her all of it.

"It didn't seem fair. I couldn't make sense of why my mind and body were still intact while my parents had been confined to St. Mungo's for almost my entire life. It seemed like it should be the other way around. They had so much more to offer than I did . . ."

"That's not true," Ginny declared, tears strangling her voice.

"It felt like it," he shrugged. "People mourned what happened to them. They would have gone on to accomplish brilliant things. Me? I'd never done anything particularly brilliant. I wasn't socially adept. I . . . I felt like destiny had made a mistake."

"Don't say that," she ordered.

"You asked me to explain," he reminded her gently. "I can't do that without tell you how I felt—guilty and undeserving."

"But you weren't. You avenged your parents."

"I killed someone inadvertently," Neville corrected. "And that just made things worse."

Ginny stared up at him with confused, sad eyes. "How?"

"I _killed_ someone, Ginny."

"After what she did . . ."

Neville took Ginny's hands in his and locked his gaze on hers. "It doesn't matter what she did. I never meant to kill her. I mean, yes, I avenged my parents, but that didn't cure them. And it didn't make me feel better. It just made me feel worse."

"But we could have helped you, Nev. Harry killed Voldemort . . ."

"That was different," Neville said softly. "That was his destiny; he knew it and so did we. He had expected it. He was striving toward it, not just to avenge his parents, but to save us all. His was a noble calling. Mine was an accidental killing of a cruel, heartless woman who happened to hurt my family. They're not the same thing."

"So you just leave?" she demanded. "You just disappear? No warning, no explanation. What about those of us you left behind? Didn't we matter at all?"

Staring into Ginny's angry, devastated face, he knew he couldn't tell her the truth: that he'd felt certain that he'd never made that deep an impression on anyone. That no one cared about him enough to be hurt or bothered by his disappearance. That no one would miss him, not even her. So he sighed and said, "Of course, you mattered, Ginny. But I wasn't . . . I needed to work through things on my own."

"You still could have left a note," she said stubbornly.

"Yes, I suppose I could have," he replied, unsuccessfully trying to hide his smile.

"Don't you dare laugh at me, Neville Longbottom," she exclaimed. But a smile was blooming on her lips. "I was worried about you."

"I'm sorry, Gin."

"Why didn't you come back after you'd figured things out?"

"I met someone," he answered.

For a brief moment, Ginny stared at him openmouthed. Then she folded her arms over her stomach and leaned back into the sofa cushions. "Who?"

"Gilbert Weedmore, the herbologist. He was cataloguing the magical plants of the Netherlands."

She blinked at him. "All right. You were in the Netherlands?"

Neville shrugged. "I needed to get away. It seemed as good a place as any. Besides, who'd think to look for me there? Anyway, Gilbert and I started talking about the plants he'd discovered and he was impressed with my knowledge and interest. Next thing I knew, we were working our way across Europe. It's what I've been doing ever since."

"So why are you here now?"

He looked away. "Gran died. I'm here to settle her affairs."

"Oh, Neville, I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

They lapsed into silence. Neville finished his butterbeer while he let Ginny process everything he'd told her. When she still hadn't said anything five minutes later, he began to wonder if he should leave her alone or say something.

Finally, she said, "How long are you going to be here?"

"Another month. Maybe two."

"I'd like to see you again before you go."

"I don't think that . . ."

"There's a dinner at The Burrow Friday night. We'll all be there—Ron, Hermione, Harry, Luna. I know they'll want to see you."

"I didn't come to England intending to rekindle old friendships, Gin."

"Yes, I puzzled that part out for myself, Neville," she snapped. "But your leaving affected us, too. Coming to dinner is the least you can do."

Neville took one look at her flashing, brown eyes and knew that she wouldn't accept no for an answer. "Should I bring anything?"

"Just yourself."

"What time?"

"Meet me here at six."

"All right," he said as he got to his feet. "I should probably go. There's still a lot of work to do at Gran's house."

Ginny stood, too, and walked him to the door. "Okay."

"Thanks for dinner, Gin."

"You're welcome. Friday, six o'clock."

He really didn't want to go to a Weasley family dinner, but he knew that she'd come after him if he didn't show. Plastering a smile on his face to hide his reluctance, Neville turned toward her with his hand resting on the doorknob. "I'll be here."


End file.
